Asphyxiation
by grav3
Summary: In all of Alex Romero's life, he had never found something he could truly escape to, materialise himself into a different being, forget about the shit-show of a life he's led to this point, well, not until Norma Bates anyway.
Slumped on the floor, too lazy to move to the couch, too stubborn to admit it was so uncomfortable a new one was needed, I swigged back probably the 12th shot of bourbon i'd had tonight,

probably more, maybe less.  
Wasn't counting, wasn't thinking.

What the fuck did I just do? Oh yeah, just killed Bob. No biggie, no big deal at all, just gave up the part of me I promised never to expose, my lust and protection for this woman. This intoxicating, diverse and fucking head case of a woman that drove my patience to the end of the earth. No amount of alcohol could rid me of the thought of her, the sweet golden locks that hung around her face effortlessly, flawlessly. The way just one corner of her mouth would softly rise before the other when the occasional time arose that I actually caused it.  
I felt anger at myself, angry for letting myself get so consumed, angry that I was undeniably, completely in love with her. Soon noticing the bottle of drink was well and truly over, I threw the glass at the wall, watched each crystallised piece of glass break before my eyes, the smashing sound circulating around my head, ringing in my ears as the alcohol began to kick into my bloodstream, slowly but ever so surely. Nothing could stop her invading my mind, absolutely nothing. I flipped my phone open and found myself on the same contact I'd been staring at earlier, hopelessly wanting to call. Who else but her. My finger wavered over the unusually bright green call button, as my eyes blurred in a haze of uncertainty and drunkenness. One call, one sentence.

'I killed that guy for you.'

It could change everything. What if she hated me for it? But then what if she loved me for it? Or even worse than both, what if she felt like she owed me, or was scared of me; much like her feelings for the late 'Deputy Shelby'. Asshole. When the aftermath of the glass broke down, I chucked the phone in the same direction, craving a distraction from my thoughts. As I watched the cheap plastic break in front of me, I slowly, briefly, felt a release.

My eyes snapped open to the sound of a large bang on the front door downstairs. I immediately rose, grabbed my gun from my bedside draw, groaned slightly at the noticeable pain in my head, burning up my eyes and making being sick look like a second, not so sweet release. Being a cop was a perk in times like this, uncertainty. I held my gun back, peering down the stairs to see if the bang had been someone breaking in, but there was no sign of anything.

Cautiously, never knowing what to expect in this god-forsaken town, (I mean after being shot in the car park of the local incredibly openly public supermarket, one never puts ones mind safely to ease at anytime). I'd never admit that it wasn't really out of fear for my own life, but for hers. If I was gone, I'd turn in my grave knowing she had no-one to protect her.

The lights were all off, all that was in sight was the silhouette of the figure standing on the other side of the door. I squinted for a moment, until I realised who was behind the door. Who else but-

"What- What the hell are you doing in there?" Her voice chirped irritably, impatiently. I lowered the gun and ran my hand throughout my hair stressfully. "Playing murder in the dark with your imaginary friends? Open the door, jesus!" Her voice chimed angrily, releasing a few more hits against the door which sent searing pains through my ears. As I pulled the door open, the only light was the soft ambient porch light shining next to her, leaving shadows around her face which only accentuated her beautiful form.

"Norma?" I asked, throat harsh as I coughed slightly, voice coarse. I saw her face only grow more agitated at each syllable.

"Of course it's me, who else would it be? Santa Claus popped down to greet you and make sure you're being a good boy? Jesus, why the hell haven't you answered any of my-" She paused, fumbling in her pocket and making angry muffled murmurs until she pulled out her phone, hitting it to life. "Any of my eight calls!" She shrieked, shoving the brightness into my face, causing my eyes to crease up as I descended into the darkness of the house. I rubbed at my eyes roughly, conjuring up an answer.

"It broke. I need to get it fixed. I didn't get your calls." I spoke, my bones crushing at the thought of my reckless stupidity getting in the way of her need for me. She looked speechless, out of breath, it wasn't until i noticed the redness of her face that she seemed severely breathless. "Is... everything- alright?" I furrowed my brow, moving closer. Her eyes wandered down to my hand as I reached out calmly, mainly for support but partially because I just couldn't stand _not_ holding her. She shook her head faintly, reaching out back to me gingerly until her hand was held in mine, unexpectantly due to me half thinking she'd shove past me and venture deeper into the house, ignoring my gesture. Her skin was so delicate against mine, dainty and pale, whereas I bared a few nicks and scars, skin rough and worn out from the amount of beatings and gun training. I savoured it, rubbing my thumb gently against the back of her chilled hand, warm meeting cold. Timidly, she pulled me out the door, leaving me to grab at my coat and swiftly close the door behind me all in one movement. Luckily, the lights were already all out. I followed loyally, followed silently. Didn't even ask where she was leading me. As we reached the edge of the path against the road, she released my hand cautiously, felt like losing a part of my being when i felt the absence of her skin, almost as smooth as velvet against my tough palm and permanently calloused knuckles, upside for intimidation, downside for delicacy. Although, she didn't seem phased.

"I- um. I just, I just really need you to help me right now." She finally stuttered, eyes flickering from mine to the floor. I pulled on my coat promptly, quickly feeling the notable chill in the air, double checking my keys were still in the pocket, they were. I noticed her breath grow shaky, panicked.

"What exactly is it you need help with?" I questioned, unsure of what she actually wanted, couldn't hold back the almost blunt tone, made her sound like she was bothering me, she wasn't in the slightest.

"It's... It's Norman." She uttered, almost below a murmur as her voice cracked, followed by a short sniffle. "He uh... He's run off and I uh, I think he's lost it. I think he's finally lost it you know." She followed on, head cocked to the side slightly as she bit against her bottom lip, beautiful as ever, clearly fighting back a mini war inside her head to stop a tear from rolling. Fuck. I urged her to continue, this felt like trust, the one thing I've always yearned from her. Without trust, I couldnt protect her. but I stayed silent, knowing anything could scare her off, send her into a fit of outrage due to her visible vulnerability, almost resembled something fragile, scared, much like an injured bird. "And I just really really need to find him before he does something ridiculous, outrageous, dangerous even." She coughed into the air, running a hand thickly through her hair.

"Any idea where he could've gone off to?" I exhaled, hand just hovering over my holster as I scanned the surrounding area behind her. Never too cautious.

"He just..." She started, until her breathing started to eradicate, almost like the start of a panic attack. I felt my chest tighten. "He just would not shut up about apparently meeting up with that Bradley Marin girl, I mean I really thought she was dead, Alex. I could've sworn! How could I not have realised?! God I am so stupid" She began to cry, holding her hands close to her face, an act I would've taken for embarrassment if I had not seen her cry numerous times before, perhaps it was. I couldn't bear it, couldn't bear to see her crack in front of me, the small noise that stifled from the back of her throat dug into my own and constricted me, unable to obtain air unless I did something, anything.

I reached for her arm and she didn't hesitate when I pulled her into my chest, comforted her lips softly against my neck, closely enough I could feel her hot, erratic breath against my skin, would've been insanely intoxicating if we had been placed in a slightly different situation. I ran my hand along the soft blonde curls, wildly dangling down in a beautiful mess at the back of her head. Felt her tears slowly burn into my skin, didn't care as long as she was in such close proximity.

I must admit, I was slightly alarmed. Why was Norman talking about Bradley Marin? For all anyone knew, she killed herself. For all _I_ knew, she killed herself. I tucked a small blonde curl behind her ear and pinned my lips to it, gently attempting to soothe her in any way possible, even though I myself couldn't even restrain my hazy thoughts on the new found matter.

"Don't call yourself stupid." I murmured against her ear, acknowledging the fact she smelt like rose oil, quaint but sweet. I felt her stir beneath my chin, I loathed to release my grip around her frame, felt too right, too put together to let go. But I did, let her lean her head back enough to meet her eyes, a sweet asphyxiation (if that was possible) crept in as I smiled faintly. "Don't call yourself stupid, Norma Bates. You're the least stupid person I've ever met, ever known. Don't ever." I uttered, ghosting one hand along the small of her back and the other along her jaw, tracing my fingers along the curve of it, mapping the unfathomable beauty before me, dark shadows hugging all the right places on her face in the dim light that was in fact still the side of the street. Timidly, almost, she pushed her lips against the pulse of my neck to which I suppressed a serious groan in response, purely because I assumed it wasn't intended in a sexual matter, would've been embarrassing to show my desire so soon, ruin the moment. Just the mere contact of her skin on mine sent me spiralling from wether to fold her in my arms and protect her from all the hurt in the world that could possibly inflict her, or to slam her against the front door and show her my want and need for her first-hand, complete desire that haunted me at every silent, motionless moment. Softly, sweetly, however, she fluttered her lips up to the edge of my jaw, curve of my cheek bone, side of my mouth until she settled her head on my neck and I felt her arms wrap around my middle, fingers tenuously tracing small, slow patterns along my back. I moved her hair to one side and nestled into the crook of her neck, let myself consume the scent of her once again, a warming, comforting advance id never been able to attempt beforehand. Didn't lean my head up and press my lips to the expanse of her forehead until she whispered,

"Thank you, Alex."


End file.
